Tip of the Tongue
by LeakySneakyOprichniki
Summary: "That was the encompassing term for Shera, aside from her name." Another drabble collection. Implied content as usual.


I.

A rich voice. It was sort of buttery on the tongue, and sweet when she switched languages. Shera was nice to listen to. Cid never really meant to eavesdrop on her phone calls. But when she spoke to certain people, and who they were, he didn't know, he could hear her being herself. He wondered what that was. At some point, he sought it out. He was very eager to be included.

II.

What a mystery she was, too; living right under his nose. Painting her toe nails bright colors in the evenings, sleeping all day on the weekends, squeezing honey into (everything) her tea, creaky footsteps in the other bedroom late late at night, sighing with the wheeze of the air vents, glasses lenses that gleamed like the twilight glow of his alarm clock, her expressions there and gone like the smoke from the burn of his cigarettes. Shera was so vague.

III.

Round, plump, and fuzzy. She tended to smell sweet right after a shower. Shera was tangy when she smiled, and when she laughed, and when she let him play her hips. Kiss on her ears. Nibble her neck. There was a time when he couldn't image ever being close enough to consider taking a bite. Cid imagined, she was probably the juiciest thing he could ever sink his teeth into. He wanted her down to the pit, too. That was very bad of him, though. He knew better than to open his big mouth.

IV.

Now, Cid really didn't consider himself the sort of man for these sorts of things. He'd never been coddled a damn day in his life…before now. He was allowed to lay his weary head over her heart beat. The cadence was hardly audible beneath the lull of Shera's breathing. Cid closed his eyes, and like the fool he was, promptly fell asleep with the warmth of her fingers in his hair. She might as well have rocked him.

V.

"Just give me second."

This normally wasn't how it worked. When it was time for bed, she followed him down the hall to his bedroom. The slight abnormality of the night left Cid feeling anxious. He sat, tired and partially bare at the edge of her bed. Shera's back was turned to him. Her room had little space, but just enough for her to have some comfortable distance while she undressed.

Cid caught glimpses of her back through the lamp light. Shera reached behind herself to unclasp the band of her bra, but stopped; probably remembering that he was there. She shoved her head through a night top, and drug it down her body before turning around and presenting him with a kiss on his scratchy chin goodnight. Better luck next time.

VI.

He really liked it when Shera called him by his name. Captain was fine. She had yet to get out of the habit of formality.

Uh, not his full name. If she snapped him over the rear with it, he knew he was in trouble. That was seldom.

But, Cid. Just Cid. He liked the way it was soaked in the butter of her throat. Shera wrote it real nice in her pretty handwriting on his birthday cakes. His name tasted really good in frosting. It was savory when he could taste his name in the moans that came from her mouth. That was becoming not so seldom.

VII.

Sweat pebbled and rolled down the smooth curve of her brow like the condensation on a cold shot glass. Pristine and glistening like the most quenching, seductive soda bottle imaginable. A whole new meaning to a tall drink of water. The Captain's throat was constantly dry.

VIII.

"Can I help you, sir?" She peeked over the line of her shoulder, feeling her housemate approach. Cid had placed his hand in the dip of her back; his chin pressed into her shoulder blade. She could smell the cigarette he'd finished smoking outside.

"You ain't gottah be like that." He pretended to scold her. Cid's arms grasped her around the middle; pulling her back against his chest. His breathing was somewhat of a purr.

"Yes, I do. It's a no."

"I aint even asked you yet!"

IX.

"Favorite…Favorite…ah." She whispered her thoughts, trying to form a response to the current topic. Pushing the comforter out of her line of vision, Shera turned onto her side and propped her cheek on her folded forearm. She sniffed. The cold weather had gifted a cold.

"Would it be cliché to say your arms?" She yawned.

"Yeah. I know that's not your favorite." Cid caught her yawn, though, much louder.

" _Oh?_ Then tell me what my favorite is."

"Keep your grubby paws off my stomach." He wasn't serious in the slightest.

"…" the shudder of the heating ducts had briefly taken over the conversation. She pursed her lips. "Okay, fair enough. What's your favorite, Captain?" Shera placed the comforter back, and Cid pulled it out of the way again, knowing good and well she was hiding her amused expression.

"Hmn…" He grunted and turned onto his back. Cid pressed a hand beneath his shirt and scratched an itchy scar on his chest. "Would it be cliché to say your eyes?" He met them in the dark when he suggested.

"Oh, _please_. Pick again, Highwind. I know you better."

His own guilty grin crinkled his nose. Cid's shoulders shook with his cackle. "Alright, ya got me."

"Keep your grubby paws off of my ass."

X.

Maybe the Captain was a morning person because he liked the look of the Nibelheim mountains before dawn. Or maybe it was habit from all of his training days. He remembered dragging a depressed body out of bed; taking on charters to keep food on the table.

He remembered getting up early in the mornings, too, to make sure she was still there. To make sure she hadn't decided to leave him. To make sure she hadn't given up on herself, because there were days when he thought she had, and he was preparing himself to come to terms with being the prime suspect in the post investigation.

But, no. He got up, invited himself in her little room at the corner of the upstairs hall, and always found relief in seeing her pull her hot mess from her mattress. It calmed him more than the light that flooded through her dingy blinds.

Yes, sir. Cid was a morning person for the sunrise.

XI.

The Captain watched half the day roll by in the reflection of the Mrs.' eyes. She had this alluring glimmer in the calico of her irises. Shera was beckoning; without ever having to lift and motion with her finger.

A hauling break came around, and the crew thinned into a few having their lunch around the bridge. They were just sharing casual conversation until Shera leaned over, touched her hand to Cid's inner thigh, and gently whispered that she was going to the Captain's cabin to retrieve some (honestly unimportant) notes.

Cid kept thinking about how much unreasonable racket the cabin hammock would make, but non conspicuously followed his temptress anyway. He locked the compartment door behind them.

XII.

He absolutely hated Icicle Inn. Really, what was he expecting?

Snot had frozen in his nose, and he was sure that even his ass was frost bitten. Cid attempted to warm his stiffened fingers by friction. No amount of rubbing would help. Still colder the bottom of the back porch deep freezer. Shera didn't seem too bothered, though. She sat rather content on the bench beside him; sipping at a canister of water slushied by the weather. What the hell was her secret?

At any rate, Cid had had enough of not being able to feel his thumbs, became instantaneously crafty, and shoved them right under Shera's thighs.

Well, no fucking wonder.

XIII.

Cid remembered the days where all he wanted to do was see her work faster than molasses. He wanted to be out of atmosphere, ASAP.

XIV.

So when in the world.

XV.

Did he get so interested in seeing her naked.

XVI.

And when in the world.

XVII.

Did he start thinking about making her his goddamn wife. He wanted a ring on her finger, well…you get the point.

XVIII.

There was an encompassing term for Shera, er, aside from her name. If you didn't actually know her, you might have mistakenly called her timid. Cid was aware of how selectively talkative she was, and when or if she decided to be defiant ( and so damn sneaky). If you knew her at work, or at home, or in the kitchen, or in bed, and Cid had experience with all of these, then you knew that her personality walked a line of ambiguity.

Always on the tip of his tongue.

You know what, he didn't have time for all of that. Fucking sneaky was what she was. Mystery solved.


End file.
